


She Comes With Knives

by notinmyvocab



Category: The Flight Attendant (TV)
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Murder Wives, Romance, Slow Burn, They're not really friends at first, a lot of plot with a dash of porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28967304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notinmyvocab/pseuds/notinmyvocab
Summary: When Guinevere Pierce takes a holiday in London and accidentally witnesses an assassination, she realizes she must do what she can to stay alive, even if it means aligning herself with the bad guys. Miranda Croft realizes that she isn’t the only one who comes with knives.
Relationships: Miranda Croft/Original Female Character
Comments: 25
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first piece I've worked on in a while. I work at a hospital during a pandemic, so bear with me in terms of updates please!

“Fuck.”

There was a lot of blood. More blood than Guinevere Pierce ever expected to encounter this early in the morning. She knew that blood accounted for about 10% of an adult’s bodyweight; about ten units. But it was hard to visualize ten units of blood, and the amount pooling on the ground seemed like so much more.

It felt unreal at first, as if she were merely watching a 3-D horror movie. Maybe it was a movie. Or a dream. It wasn’t until she saw the hand of the killer move that real fear settled into her bones. This had absolutely not been on her to do list when she planned this vacation. Seeing a bunch of plays and drinking at a lot of pubs, yes. Witnessing a murder? Definitely not. If she wanted to do that, she would have just stayed in America.

Running would have been understandable. Yet Pierce found herself calmly walking away as if she hadn’t seen anything. She couldn’t draw attention to herself. There was the possibility that the killer hadn’t seen her, and running out into the street screaming that there was a dead body in the alleyway would make it all too obvious that she was a witness.

She took deep breaths as she walked into the crowded London street, hoping to vanish among the people; hoping the killer hadn’t seen her. 

But Miranda Croft had seen her, and was already trailing behind her, butterfly knife at the ready; it wasn’t hard to find a natural redhead in a sea of hats and hair dye. She picked up the pace until she was right beside the witness. Victor wouldn’t forgive her for leaving behind a mess; she had to take care of this.

“Calmly walking into a crowd so you don’t draw attention to yourself. Clever,” Miranda said as she pressed the tip of her knife into the witness’s side, threatening to penetrate. “Tell me, what exactly were you hoping to accomplish?”

“Honestly, I didn’t expect you to be such a fast walker in those heels,” Pierce admitted.

“Mistake number one: never underestimate a woman in heels.” Miranda pushed the tip of her knife further into Pierce’s side, not stabbing her quite yet, more of guiding her off the street and towards the next alley.

Once they were alone, Miranda shoved Pierce onto her knees, and seemed to consider her position for a moment, enjoying the view. She always preferred her victims on their knees. She brought the blade of her favorite knife to Pierce’s throat. This would be a simple job; one slice and then over and done with.

“You can’t kill me like this,” Pierce argued.

It was stated so matter-of-factly and calmly that it gave Miranda pause, though she kept the knife pressed to Pierce’s neck. “I’m not asking you for any last requests.”

“No, I mean… okay, you just killed a man down in another alleyway, with the same knife, right? Fucking… The police will find me and see that I was killed just like that man. They’ll probably do forensic tests and say I was killed with the same type of knife. They’ll think they have a serial killer on their hands. And I’m American; this will become an international case; you won’t get away with it.” Though she tried her tone calm, she spoke quickly, as if she were afraid that this deadly woman would slice her throat before she could finish speaking.

Pierce felt the knife move away from her neck, and for a moment she was in disbelief. Had she just saved herself?

Hardly. Miranda was just annoyed. “Then how do you propose I kill you?”

“Insulin.”

“Insulin?” she repeated incredulously.

Pierce nodded, still kneeling on the ground though her knees were beginning to ache. “Short acting insulin only stays in the body for a few hours. Even long acting insulin only lasts for as long as twenty-four hours. It’s virtually undetectable.” 

This gave Miranda pause, as she hadn’t actually been expecting an explanation that made sense. She frowned in confusion, trying to discern why the hell this woman would give her instructions not only on how to kill her, but how to not get caught. “Who the hell do you work for?”

“No one. I don’t work for anyone. Literally no one,” Pierce insisted. “I’m actually unemployed.” Stupid thing to say, Pierce realized too late. No job meant no ties.

But Miranda didn’t seem to be focused on that. “So this is just information you happen to have on hand in case you’re about to be murdered?”

“N-no,” Pierce answered, her fake confidence waning. “I just… well, it’s all like…” She was losing her train of thought; losing the energy to keep herself composed. Her hands started shaking. “I-I’m a historian. And-and-and I um have a focus in the Victorian era.” Not that any of this was relevant. “But I took… took a personal interest in true crime, spe-specifically medical murders… I think I’m going to throw up.”

Pierce took a deep breath through her nose, hoping beyond hope that this nauseous feeling would go away and she wouldn’t vomit all over this woman’s shoes.

There was a drawn out silence. Miranda toyed with her knife absently as she considered this option presented before her. Here was someone who witnessed something that she shouldn’t have, giving advice on how to commit a murder without getting caught. Normally Miranda would have sliced a pretty throat without a second thought. But this was an interesting dilemma, wasn’t it?

“Get up,” Miranda ordered, finally settling on a decision.

The command didn’t register with Pierce at first. Still on her knees, she stared up at Miranda with her green eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.

“Up!” Miranda repeated harshly, and Pierce scrambled to her feet, her heart thudding in her throat. Miranda then turned and started leaving the alleyway. “Come along,” she said without looking at Pierce. 

“Um, where are we going?” Pierce asked as she started following Miranda instinctively.

“Costa. I need a coffee, and we need to have a chat.”


	2. Chapter 2

Pierce’s foot was tapping restlessly against the tiled floor of the Costa. She tried her best to stop it, knowing it was a dead giveaway for her nerves. But her foot simply wouldn’t listen. 

She refused to take her eyes off of her assailant, who was being handed two coffees.

“Are you sure this is the best place to be talking about… whatever it is you want to talk about?” Pierce asked. The Costa was rather public, wasn’t it?

“Look around and tell me if you really think we’re at risk here,” Miranda replied, tilting her head in the direction of the barista. Pierce saw the barista texting, one ear bud in, clearly not caring about what was going on around her. 

“Point taken.” Pierce managed to settle her foot as she sipped her coffee. It was black and bitter and while she would have much preferred a mocha latte or something, she didn’t dare complain. “Alright then, let’s chat.” Oh god was she really giving permission for this murderer to engage in a conversation with her? Not that she had much of a choice. It was either talk, or get a knife to her throat.

Miranda took a sip of her black coffee without so much as flinching at the bitterness. “Name.”

“Pierce.”

“Full name.”

“Guinevere Pierce. Everyone just calls me Pierce.”

“Not even just Gwen?”

“Do I look like a Gwen?”

The corners of Miranda’s lips tilted upwards in the faintest of amused smiles. “Point taken,” she parroted. “What business do you have in London?”

“None. Taking a holiday.”

“Only a holiday?”

There was a pause. It wasn’t like this truth would add anything, but Pierce knew she had to be wary about what lies she told. “Bit of personal research as well.”

“Oh yes, your strange preoccupation with ‘medical murders.’”

Pierce nodded. “I was in Bristol for a bit, digging into the Amelia Dyer affair. She was once a nurse who ended up getting involved with baby farming. Doesn’t that just sound gross? It’s not what you think though―” Pierce stopped herself. This wasn’t a friendly chat. She wasn’t meeting a new friend and divulging interests. She quietly cleared her throat. “Anyway, seemed like a waste to take a trip to England and not see London.”

“So you’re at the end of your trip. When is your flight home?”

“It’s tomorrow.” Well, it was tomorrow. Pierce wasn’t sure if she would be on that flight now. 

“To where?”

“Newark. And then home. Upstate New York.”

Miranda pursed her lips in thought. Here was someone who had a wealth of knowledge about murders that looked like accidents. Here was someone with no job; no ties. Here was a mess she had to clean up. Of course, she could just slice Pierce’s throat and be done with it. Yet, she felt that there was an opportunity here, and Miranda wanted to explore it before it went to waste.

“Has anything you said so far been a lie?”

“You tell me,” Pierce challenged. No, she hadn’t lied about anything. But she wasn’t going to openly admit that when she knew what was happening in that moment: this woman was assessing her. 

Miranda studied her victim, looking for any signs of lying. But, in truth, she actually couldn’t tell. That was definitely a plus. “Family?” Miranda asked. She needed to know if there truly were no ties.

“Mom and dad. But I haven’t lived with them since getting my masters.”

“Let me guess then: a flat. A cheap one. But rent is still hard to keep up when you haven’t a job. Yet you made a trip out of the country. Meaning you’ve either been saving for years for this, or your not very good with your finances.” 

She watched, waiting for Pierce to turn shameful; to give some indication about whether any of this was true not. And still Pierce remained unreadable. Miranda went on, “No job, no real ties to anyone, and more importantly: a witness.” She paused and then chuckled at her own line of thinking. “I really should just kill you. It would be easier for me.”

“But I’m useful to you,” Pierce cut in, seizing her chance to do so. “Because I know how to kill without getting caught. And you’re messy.”

Miranda frowned at the accusation, but she knew she couldn’t argue against it. She was a little messy. If she wasn’t, this conversation wouldn’t be happening right now.

The two women held each other’s gazes for a moment, as if daring one another to make a sudden move. Maybe it was brave of Pierce. Maybe it was stupid. This woman could kill her. But she wasn’t about to make it so easy.

And then, Miranda’s expression softened a bit. “You’re interesting, Pierce. I can’t say that about a lot of people I’ve come across, so I’ll you what―” Miranda reached into her pocket to retrieve a pen, then took a napkin― “This is what I’m willing to offer you. Come to this address on this day if you’re in.” Miranda slid the napkin over to Pierce after scribbling on it.

Pierce’s eyes widened when she saw the offered payment. “Holy fuck.” She looked up to meet Miranda’s eyes. They were a lovely shade of blue, weren’t they? “And what if I say no?”

“Do you really want to find out?”

No, she didn’t. Her life was hanging on this decision, and Pierce knew that there was really only one choice. It was either this, or get her throat cut. Or her back stabbed. Or her front.

Miranda rose from her chair, holding Pierce’s gaze the entire time. “I’ll be seeing you in a few days time then. Regardless of your choice.”

“I don’t know your name.”

“No, you don’t.”

She left then, and Pierce stared at her coffee. What the fuck just happened?

* * *

Her mind was still reeling as she reached her hotel. She didn’t remember walking back or taking the tube; her feet had just carried her. It wasn’t until Pierce was laying on top of the bed that she even registered that she was finally alone and could somewhat relax.

Or could she?

Pierce immediately stood up and shut the curtains, blocking out the rare rays of sunlight. She then went to the bathroom and turned on the light. It was small, hardly a good hiding spot. But the paranoia kept tugging at her brain, urging her to check every corner. 

She took a bar of soap and chucked it at the shower curtain. It banged against the shower wall, and no one said ow. Safe then. And though this was teetering on the edge of ridiculous, Pierce bent down and checked the cupboard beneath the sink. 

Empty.

Somewhat satisfied that she was actually alone, Pierce returned to the bed. She sat on the edge and took out the napkin the woman had scribbled on. 

Was this an annual salary? Even if it was a one time payment, it would be stupid to walk away from it. It would be even stupider to say no when it meant saving her life.

Whoever that woman was, she was dangerous. Pierce knew that. And she was probably getting herself into a shit load of trouble by even considering joining forces with her. Whatever that woman was involved with, it was illegal. She was, by all definitions, a bad guy. And Pierce’s life was in her hands.

Pierce folded the sheet of paper and put it back in the pocket of her jeans before laying back down. She stared at the ceiling for hours.

Her flight was early in the morning. She needed to get packed and she needed to sleep. But Pierce continued to stare at the ceiling and it wasn’t until three in the morning that she finally moved. 

“Shit,” she muttered, getting off the bed and heading to the bathroom for a quick rinse and to gather her things.

She wasn’t looking forward to this flight. It was going to be long and torturous, and Pierce knew that she wasn’t going to be able to sleep because she would be thinking about the mysterious murderess who wanted to hire her.

Would she have to go off the grid if she took this job? Probably. Pierce couldn’t imagine ever having a conversation with her parents about this. _Mom, Dad, I’ve got a really cool new job as a murder consultant!_ No, absolutely not.

“Fuck,” Pierce groaned to her reflection.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the lovely comments and the kudos! I'm so glad people are enjoying this story. As I said, I work at a hospital during a pandemic so please bear with me in terms of updates!

Home had never felt more unfamiliar. 

Pierce looked around her apartment, almost not recognizing anything. She knew the furniture and belongings to be hers, but it all felt very distant, as if she were looking at everything through a dream. This was the home of Guinevere Pierce before London. The Guinevere Pierce from after London was a very different person.

Waiting until the specified date that the mysterious woman had given her was the most difficult thing in the world. Pierce had found herself pacing her apartment relentlessly, willing the hours to pass by quicker. She tried sleeping all day. She tried not sleeping. In the end, she only managed to make herself anxious and miserable.

She tried distracting herself. But there wasn’t much in Johnstown for Pierce to do. There were a few bars that were usually littered with creepy townies or underaged kids with fake IDs. There was a community theater that wasn’t putting on any performances. There were probably people selling cocaine. There was Caroga Lake with no cellphone service and a weird cult mentality among the people who owned houses there. None of that was appealing to her at the moment.

The night before The Day, Pierce packed a backpack, then emptied it and repacked it. What would she bring? Probably a bunch of her old textbooks. A few medical books she had gotten her hands on. Or was that too much? Maybe this was more of just an interview of sorts.

She looked at the piece of paper with her payment on it. 

Christ. 

This was all fucking insane, but it was a nice sum, and if she didn’t do this, she probably wouldn’t wake up the next morning. No one would find her body for quite some time, not until she was bloated and decaying and hardly recognizable, blood coating her bedsheets (for she most certainly would be killed in her sleep) having turned black…

Or maybe she just needed to calm down.

She repacked her backpack for a final time and then made herself a cup of hot chocolate with a generous amount of Bailey’s. She ended up dumping half of it, not wanting to risk any sort of hangover the next day. New York City was a bit of a drive from Johnstown, and she had every intention of leaving early in the morning.

When The Day arrived, Pierce woke up before the sun. The mysterious woman hadn’t given her a time to show up, but Pierce hardly wanted to arrive there at eleven at night.

Driving was harder than she expected. Her mind kept wandering; she kept considering just driving off the side of the road. A podcast helped a little. Listening to “Infinitesimal” by Mother Mother on loop for two hours and screaming the lyrics helped even more. She spent that last part of her drive in absolute silence as she tried navigating her way through New York City.

Driving in the city sucked.

Finally, she pulled up to an apartment building that her GPS insisted was the right one. 

“Shit,” Pierce muttered, seeing the limited parking options. She hadn’t parallel parked in years; upstate New York didn’t really require it. She hadn’t actually parallel parked since her driver’s test when she was sixteen! 

Pierce looked around to make sure that there weren’t any cars coming. She then lined her car up with the one in front of the spot she was attempting to squeeze into, trying to remember what she could from Driver’s Ed. 

It took several minutes of her pulling in and then pulling out to straighten her car. Finally, she deemed the job good enough and got out of her car, grabbing the backpack of books she had brought with her.

When Pierce shut her door, a voice said, “Are you quite finished?”

She looked up to see the mysterious woman waiting for her on the sidewalk. She gave a sheepish smile, sensing the annoyance. “Yeah, yeah I’m good now.”

“Come on then.” Miranda turned and walked into the apartment building, knowing that Pierce would follow like a puppy. 

Miranda didn’t say a word as she got into the elevator that brought them up to her apartment. She didn’t say anything as she unlocked the door and went inside. She didn’t say anything as she turned the lock on the door, trapping herself and Pierce inside. She didn’t say anything as she turned to face Pierce.

Pierce wondered if she was going to talk at all. 

And then finally, Miranda said, “Is that all you brought?”

Pierce looked to her backpack that was hanging on her one shoulder. “Uh, yeah?”

“How many clothes could you possibly fit in there?”

“I didn’t bring any clothes.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. She really was dealing with an amateur. “Jesus fuck… you didn’t bring any clothes?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t planning on a sleepover."

There was a short pause, and then Miranda chuckled. Oh god, this girl had no idea what she was getting into! “You sincerely thought I would let you go home after this?”

“I didn’t sincerely think anything. It’s not like I’ve done this before,” Pierce argued, setting her backpack down.

Fair enough. Miranda took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. This girl had a lot to learn. “Alright, let me spell it out for you then: you live here now. You do not leave the apartment without my knowing. You work for me, and only answer to me. You do what I say, and I pay you for it.”

“So… a glorified prostitute.”

“Prostitute implies sex, and I didn’t say anything about sex, yet.” Before Pierce could even process that comment, Miranda turned and walked into the kitchen. “Hungry?”

Was she hungry? Yes, Pierce was beyond hungry. But not for food. No, she was hungry for answers. “I’ve got a few questions first.”

Miranda emerged from the kitchen, cupcake in hand. “Alright then, ask your questions.”

“What’s your name?” That was a good place to start.

“What name do you want?” A number of aliases; a number of lifetimes. There was more than one name to choose from.

“What name do you want me to know you by?”

Miranda considered this for a moment. She could use Elaina King and keep her true self hidden from this girl, who was still a stranger. But she said the name Miranda Croft anyway, finding that she wanted to hear Pierce say it. She wanted to hear the name “Miranda” fall from her lips.

“Miranda,” Pierce repeated. “Not even just Mandi?”

“Do I look like a Mandi to you?” Miranda countered, taking Pierce’s words from their first encounter.

Pierce’s smirk matched Miranda’s. “Alright, Miranda then. And um… what exactly is our arrangement here?”

“Complicated.”

Pierce wanted more of an explanation than that. Complicated didn’t even begin to cover half of it. “How about we go with roommates.”

“That’s a bit chummy.”

“It’s true though, isn’t it?”

“I think the word prisoner is a bit more apt.”

Miranda said this so casually and through a mouthful of cupcake, Pierce had to stifle a grin, which she struggled to do. “Fine then, prisoner. Whom you pay. Last question.”

“Which is?”

“Got any red velvet cupcakes?”

Miranda frowned deeply. "No, I don't have any red velvet cupcakes. I'm not some kind of monster. You can have a chocolate one like a normal fucking person."


	4. Chapter 4

The day had not gone as Pierce expected. When Miranda gave her the title of prisoner, she expected to be handcuffed to a wall. Instead, Miranda had left the apartment to handle business affairs… something to do with a lion fish; Pierce hadn’t really been listening.

She could just run. The apartment door was right there. She could unlock it and flee.

Yet, she stayed. She stayed because she knew that running would get her killed. But was it more than that? Pierce knew that the world was not divided strictly between good and bad, but she knew that there were bad guys. Murdering made someone a bad guy. Miranda was a bad guy.

And that was what made her intriguing. That was part of the reason why Pierce stayed. This was insane, yes, but wasn’t it also thrilling? After years of studying history and watching movies and seeing how villains should operate, she was getting to experience it. And she was getting paid for it too. That was definitely a factor. It was blood money, but that didn’t make it any less valuable did it?

It wasn’t like Pierce herself was becoming a murderer. No, she was just… giving insight. Honestly, as long as she didn’t see the bodies, then it was fine, wasn’t it? It was just like an author doing research for a murder mystery novel.

Deep down, Pierce knew that no matter her reasoning, this made her a bad person. She was aiding in murder; she was an accomplice. That in itself wasn’t what made her a bad person, not really. No, what made her bad was the fact that she was justifying this to herself.

Because she wanted to do this.

It should have made her sick to her stomach. It didn’t though, and that was somewhat scary.

So lost in her troubling thoughts as she lay on the couch and stared at the ceiling, Pierce didn’t hear the door open. She wasn’t aware Miranda had even returned until a file was dropped in her lap, making her jump. “Fuck,” she said quietly from surprise.

“You need to work on your vigilance,” said Miranda.

“What’s this?” Pierce opened the file. There was a picture of a man she had never seen before with some basic information.

“Your first target.”

Pierce’s chest tightened. Her first target. Her first victim. The reality of it all was starting to set in. She was doing something evil. She was a bad person.

She was saving her own life.

“What did he do?” Pierce asked.

“Nothing that concerns you. Lionfish wants him gone, and that’s all that matters. So, how would you get rid of him?”

Miranda’s tone was casual yet inquisitive. This was a test, Pierce realized. This was her interview.

“Strychnine,” Pierce answered. “Easy to get ahold of.”

“But detectable,” Miranda interjected. “Authorities will know he’s been poisoned.”

“It’s only detectable for at most a day.”

“Any purchase of strychnine will be suspicious.”

“Insulin overdose then.” It was just as Pierce said when she and Miranda had first met: insulin only stayed in the system for so long. Someone could die from hypoglycemia and a coroner would be none the wiser. “Humalog is short acting so it will only stay in the system for a few hours. But even with something long acting, like Lantus, it’ll only be detectable for, at most, twenty-four hours.”

“And if I can’t get my hands on insulin?” Miranda countered.

Pierce paused in thought. Insulin, while not a controlled substance, wasn’t easy to get. It couldn’t be bought off the shelves at Walgreen’s, it had to be prescribed. But it was easily accessible within hospitals. And it wasn’t like shipments were protected with armed guards. “There’s absolutely no way for you to get your hands on it?”

“This is your interrogation, not mine.”

“But it’s hardly fair if you’re not willing to work with me.”

“Imagine you’re on your own.”

“But that’s not our deal. You’re paying me to help you,” Pierce reminded Miranda. “I’m not killing anyone myself. I’m just giving advice.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“What kind of organization is Lionfish anyway?”

“Classified. Answer the question.”

“I answered it. And that’s a pretty stupid name.” 

“Goddammit, you are trying my patience on purpose!” Miranda seethed. “I didn’t hire you for your petulance.”

“Why did you hire me?” 

Silence. Miranda was too angry to answer. That was what it looked like anyway. Was that the truth though? Miranda would insist it was. It was better than saying she didn’t have an answer. Why did she hire Pierce? By all accounts, she should have left Guinevere Pierce bleeding to death in that alleyway. She sucked in her cheeks as she tried calming herself down, making her cheekbones appear even sharper. 

She let out the breath she was holding in, feeling a tiny bit calmer. A tiny bit.

She then slammed her hand against the wall, and Pierce flinched at the resounding bang! Her green eyes were suddenly full of fear and for a brief moment, Miranda felt triumphant; she had finally gotten through. But her smirk fell when she saw the way that Pierce was looking at her. This wasn’t a woman who had just been startled. This was a scared child. 

Miranda lowered her hand from the wall. The question was on the tip of her tongue, threatening to jump out. She wanted to ask who, but now was not the right time. Miranda waited until she saw Pierce relax again. She breathed in through her nose. “Imagine I’m in a bind. I can’t get my hands on insulin. What do I do.”

There was a pause. “Hyperkalemia,” Pierce answered quietly. 

“Normal, human terms please.”

“Potassium overdose,” Pierce explained. “It’s rare. Which can be both… good and bad. It’s easy for someone to diagnose. But it also means it can be difficult to find a cause. You can buy vitamin K tablets at a pharmacy or injectables at the pet store.” It was scarily easy to get ahold of vitamin K. “And when the body dies, it releases a large amount of potassium. It’s a way of determining how long someone’s been dead for… So if there’s a lot of potassium in the body, but it isn’t very decayed then a coroner is going to know something is up. But like I said: difficult to find a cause.”

Miranda chewed over this information. This was all just a hypothetical. The file wasn’t even real; Miranda had pulled the photo off of Google Images. Pierce had presented her with options and explanations. Overall, she was proving herself to be useful. 

Pierce waited for Miranda’s response, her shoulders tense.

“Good girl,” Miranda said finally. “In our line of work we can’t afford to only have one option.” She picked up the file from Pierce’s lap and tossed it onto the coffee table.

“And what exactly is ‘our line of work?’” Pierce clung onto Miranda’s word choice. Our. We. Did that mean she passed? Was she official?

Miranda didn’t answer at first. Her lips were pursed in thought as she sat beside Pierce on the couch. How to describe what she did… “Smuggling, mostly,” she finally said. “But that’s nothing you have to worry about.”

“No, I just have to worry about getting rid of the people you want gone.”

“You showed up, didn’t you?” Pierce could have walked away. Miranda had left her alone for hours; she could have run. She could have never come here. Yet here she was. “Don’t bullshit me with any ‘fearing for your life’ nonsense. You’d take that chance if you were so against this. But you’re here, because you want to be.”

Pierce opened her mouth to argue. She then shut it because, well, she couldn’t. She couldn’t argue because Miranda was right. She was here because she wanted to be. Pierce huffed. “Right then… so we’re like… murder wives?”

“What?” 

“Not like, actually,” Pierce said quickly. “But you know how people have their work wives and work husbands?”

“We’re not work wives.”

“I live with you now, and we’re going to kill people together. That’s pretty intimate.”

“We’re not work wives,” Miranda insisted.

“No, murder wives.”

Miranda frowned faintly as she studied Pierce. Was she joking? Pierce was so strange. Sometimes, it was easy to read her; she was like a children’s book. Other times, such as now, Miranda found it damn near impossible. It was a good quality to have in this line of business, but Miranda found it personally frustrating.

Joking, Miranda decided. She could see it in Pierce’s green eyes. They changed ever so slightly; became a little… brighter in a way, as if mirth made them glow.

“You should know what you’re getting into,” Miranda said quietly, growing serious. “There are times when I will be gone. You’ll never know where I am. You’ll never know when I’ll be back. Hell, I hardly ever know. And it’s important that during that time you do not let anyone in this apartment. Understood?”

“Who would even want to get in here?”

Not in the mood for further petulance, Miranda gripped Pierce’s chin, digging her nails into Pierce’s skin. “Understood?” she repeated.

“Y-yeah,” Pierce stammered.

“Good girl.”


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t that the couch was uncomfortable. And it wasn’t as if Pierce had been expecting a bed. But sleep just wouldn’t come. She took out one of her history books and tried reading that, but her lack of concentration wouldn’t let her. 

Her phone was gone. She noticed after Miranda’s warning about what she was getting herself into. At some point, Miranda must have slipped it out of her pocket. Of course, Pierce was annoyed that her only connection to the outside world was gone. No Instagram, no Twitter… actually, it was probably a good thing that she now had a good excuse to not go on Twitter. But what annoyed her the most was that she hadn’t noticed Miranda’s hand in her back pocket. Surely she would have noticed that?

She quietly wandered around the living room. A television, but no cable box, she noted. Probably made sense. If Miranda traveled as randomly as she claimed, then paying for cable just wasn’t worth it. Maybe Pierce would be able to hook up her Netflix account.

There was nothing sentimental here, Pierce noticed. The place was decorated nicely, sure. But there were no photos, and it was too perfect. It looked like the place had been lifted right out of a catalog. There was no personality, which she supposed also made sense. Still, it was rather paralyzing. And it was a bit annoying. She had hoped to gain some sort of knowledge about her new partner (captor? Was there really a right word for this?). But Miranda hadn’t left a trace of herself in this apartment. There was nothing to find out.

Pierce resigned herself to the couch and once again attempted to sleep.

Around one in the morning, she gave up and went into the kitchen. There were cupcakes left, so she took one (they really were good cupcakes; super fancy ones too, and probably expensive) and turned on the Keurig to make herself a cup of coffee. A look in the refrigerator revealed no milk. Sugar was nowhere to be found. It looked like she would be stuck drinking it black.

Maybe she could convince Miranda to grocery shopping. This was also the City That Never Sleeps; there had to be a convenience store still open.

Pierce slipped on her shoes and tried unlocking the door as quietly as she could. 

Just as she was about to open it a hand shot out of the darkness, slamming the door shut. 

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Miranda asked. She didn’t sound angry, just tired. She looked it too: her hair was a wild mess, her pajamas were crumpled. She clearly had been having a very nice sleep, and Pierce had just ruined it. She then frowned faintly. “Do I smell coffee?”

“You don’t have milk. Or sugar. Or like, anything other than coffee,” Pierce explained. She looked up Miranda’s makeup free face, not surprised to see that she still looked good. And deadly. “I was going out to get some.”

Miranda studied Pierce for a moment. Was she joking? She had to be joking. But no, her eyes held nothing but truth. “You’re insane.”

“For liking sugar in my coffee?”

“It’s New York City. Our little business deal aside, you really want to be a woman walking the streets alone at this time of night? For Christ’s sake, you look like you’d be taken down by a subway rat.”

Pierce wanted to be offended. But it was hard to be offended by the truth. “So come with me,” she reasoned. 

“You’re insane,” Miranda repeated, locking the door. 

“Right, you’re the assassin, but I’m the insane one.”

Miranda scoffed, shaking her head. How little Pierce knew. And maybe one day, Miranda would explain it in greater detail. Maybe. “It’s late, you shouldn’t be drinking coffee.”

“Can’t sleep. Might as well caffeinate,” Pierce reasoned. If she was going to be awake anyway, she didn’t want to be groggy.

Miranda studied her for a moment, something she found herself doing quite often. Guinevere Pierce was a puzzle that she was dying to solve, which Miranda found… troubling. She didn’t usually care enough about people to want to figure them out.

Pierce held her breath, feeling uneasy under Miranda’s scrutiny. She knew she had been pushing her luck with her snarky comments. What was the breaking point? Where was the line? She waited for Miranda to do… something. Anything. Strike her, roll her eyes, shove her against the wall. But nothing. 

Finally, Miranda said, “Learn to drink coffee black.”

Miranda once again retired to her bedroom, but she didn’t get in the bed right away. She stood in front of her bureau, rubbing her hands over her face. 

This wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out. She wasn’t supposed to have a hostage, or a partner-in-crime. It was supposed to just be her. At most, Cecelia had her back if needed. But she had taken in this girl who wasn’t even an expert in poisons, she just knew a lot.

Maybe she was losing her mind?

Miranda walked over to her bed and got under the covers, but sleep didn’t return easily. She stared at her ceiling. In her mind, she kept seeing Guinevere’s scared expression. It hadn’t quite been terror, but a familiar fear. Not that Miranda ought to care. She didn’t. She should just kill Guinevere. She easily could.

So why didn’t she? It wasn’t like there was anything special about Guinevere. And keeping her was more of a risk than disposing of her. 

It was then that Miranda realized what she needed to do. If Guinevere Pierce was going to stay an amateur, then she would be a liability. Some training would have to happen, and it would have to happen soon.

Satisfied with this decision, Miranda was able to settle down.

She had made a choice that made her happy. Keeping Guinevere was a small act of defiance against Victor. That was all.

And the idea of a partnership… well, it certainly made the days seem less lonely. She didn’t even have her cat for company anymore; she traveled too often and had handed over her cat mom responsibilities to Cecelia. This was like having a pet again. Because that was all Guinevere was.

That was what Miranda kept insisting to herself. She had made a slip up and this was her way of fixing it while also benefiting herself. Guinevere had a wealth of knowledge at her fingertips that now belonged to Miranda. 

She turned over onto her side, trying to push the image of the girl on the couch out of her head. This was not a partnership. Sure, this was much more work. But it was nice to have her own little secret, something Victor couldn’t take advantage of.

Besides, if Guinevere ended up being more of a handful than Miranda had planned, she could just slice the girl’s throat.


	6. Chapter 6

Miranda ended up sleeping very well that night, pleased with her decisions.

Pierce could not say the same. She taken her black coffee and spent hours reading through The Great Influenza by John M. Barry. It was a thrilling nonfiction piece about the influenza epidemic of 1918. Stories like these were what kept Pierce company during such lonely times.

She didn’t know when she had drifted off to sleep, she just knew that it hadn’t been for very long when the sound of a cabinet slamming shut jolted her awake.

Looking around, Pierce didn’t recognize anything. It looked like she had stepped into an Ikea display. Had she? She didn’t have a habit of sleep walking but there was a first time for everything. The only issue with that theory was that there wasn’t an Ikea anywhere in Johnstown.

Right, she wasn’t in Johnstown. 

“Good, you’re awake,” Miranda said as she walked into the living room, two cups of coffee in hand. “You look a mess.”

Pierce didn’t argue. She felt a mess. Her neck ached horribly, her hair was probably a knotted nightmare, and no doubt yesterday’s makeup was now smudged all under her eyes. Maybe she could claim it was a grunge throwback? With a grumpy expression, Pierce held her hand out to receive one of the coffee mugs. She could have sworn for a second that Miranda was on the verge of chuckling at her, but she chalked it up to being tired.

“I have work to do today.”

Pierce’s stomach twisted and her heart leapt with excitement. Work. Her job. Because murder was what she did now. “What do we have to do?”

“Oh no, not we. Me. You’re not involved.”

Pierce couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. She had been brought here to be useful, and here she was not being used. Was she still going to get paid? “You know, I’m starting to wonder about this little arrangement. I mean, why am I even here if I’m not going to do anything?”

“You went to school for history, correct?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And what do historians do best?”

Was that a trick question? Pierce didn’t answer right away. It sounded like a bad riddle the Mad Hatter would tell. She pursed her lips as she searched Miranda’s eyes for some sort of giveaway. Nothing, though. What did historians do best? And what would that have to do with her new lifestyle?

“Research,” Pierce finally said as it clicked. “What do you need me to look into?”

“In due time. Coffee first,” Miranda said, raising her mug to her lips. She watched as Pierce followed suit, noticing how she tried concealing her distaste for the bitter caffeine. “Why are you here?” 

“Because you threatened to kill me.”

“Bullshit.” It was as Miranda pointed out before: if Pierce was truly against this idea, she would have taken the chance to escape. “Why are you here?”

Pierce stared into her cup of coffee, as if trying to divine the answer in the dark, steaming liquid. Why was she here? “Bit complicated.” She raised her gaze to meet Miranda’s eyes, and though Miranda said nothing, Pierce sensed the demand for an answer. How could she explain though? How could she possibly explain the desire to do something exciting? She had been an unemployed historian for a while now, living off of her parents’ charity ever since she lost her job at the local cafe. “What do you want me to say, Miranda? That I’d been hoping for an opportunity like this? I needed a job, and, _again_ , you were going to kill me.”

Miranda made a face as if to say “fair enough” and turned her attention back to her coffee. It warmed up her insides in ways that physical contact never could, one of the reasons she preferred a hot beverage to other people.

“What about you?” Pierce asked after a beat of silence.

“What _about_ me?”

“I mean, why this life?”

It was a question that no one had ever asked Miranda before. It was intrusive, and Miranda couldn’t answer right away. Why did she choose this life? Pierce had captured the answer earlier when she said it herself. “Bit complicated.” She took another sip of coffee and set it aside. “Does the name Harrison Fox mean anything to you?”

“No.”

“It will.” 

Harrison Fox… no, Pierce didn’t recall the name at all. But she filed it away for now, making sure to keep it in the forefront of her mind.

“Do you have any sort of close combat training?” Miranda asked.

“Um, no?” Why the fuck would she have close combat training? It wasn’t like this had been a career path Pierce deliberated worked towards. “I feel like that would have been something to ask before bringing me here… You’re not very good at this.”

Miranda frowned, her eyes darkening at the accusation. While Pierce had said it nonchalantly, Miranda still took great offense. “Watch your tone; you seem quick to forget who’s in charge here.”

“I thought this was a partnership.”

“And I thought you would have realized by now that I could kill you when you’re least expecting,” Miranda shot back. She came close to Pierce, kneeling down so that they were eye-level, and her voice became low and threatening. “You work for me. The second I deem you too annoying to deal with, you’re gone. When I say jump, you just do it. Understood?”

“And once again, pretty sure that weren’t the terms I agreed to―”

The movement happened so quickly, Pierce didn’t even see it. There was a clatter as Miranda’s coffee mug fell to the ground as she suddenly straddled Pierce’s lap, hand around Pierce’s neck. She was tired of the petulance; of the childishness. 

Pierce’s eyes watered in pain as her own hot coffee spilled on her stomach and leg, and Miranda dug her fingernails into her skin. She tried not to struggle; tried to focus on breathing instead. She could barely get any air in, only enough to stay conscious and panicked.

“ _Understood_?” Miranda snarled. 

Her hand constricted, and the panic settled into Pierce’s green eyes. Pierce parted her lips to respond, but no words came out. She could only attempt to gasp for air. Something in her mind kicked in, urging her to fight. Who was to say Miranda wouldn’t get carried away and strangle her to death? Ignoring the ache in her throat and the burning pain on her legs and torso, Pierce twisted her body uncomfortably, dragging Miranda with her to the floor.

The sudden move caught Miranda off guard, and Pierce seized the opportunity to switch their positions so that she was now the one on top. Miranda’s hands slipped from her neck, and Pierce wasted no time in grasping Miranda’s wrists, pinning her hands to the ground above her head. 

A stunned silence followed. Miranda hadn’t expected Pierce to fight back. Hell, Pierce hadn’t expected to fight back! But her brain had kicked into overdrive when the danger became real. Her moves hadn’t been sharp, but they had been intentional, as if she had been practicing that in her hand but never practiced executing it.

“Mercy,” Miranda said breathlessly. Pierce let go of Miranda’s wrists and stood up from the ground. Heart thudding wildly, Pierce watched Miranda slowly sit up. “Bit sloppy, but we’ll get there.” Miranda pushed herself up from the floor, running a hand through her hair. She rolled her shoulders, shaking off the scuffle. “I’ll be back later. Clean up this mess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter! Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

Now that she was completely alone in the apartment, it felt more fake than ever. She picked up the coffee mugs (neither of which broke, miraculously) and sopped up the spilled coffee with paper towels. The smell lingered, and probably would all day. That was fine; at least it brought some personality to this place. 

She went into the bathroom and stripped off her soaked clothing. An examination of her skin showed little damage. The coffee hadn’t been boiling, thank god. Her skin was red, sure, but that was all. 

Pierce let herself drink in the rest of her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Tired eyes, greasy hair; the lack of teeth brushing made her mouth feel fuzzy, and she wanted nothing more than to just unzip her skin and step out of it. She would leave behind her skin bag, and walk out of here all pink, shiny, and new. 

She turned on the tap in the bathtub and set the water to scalding before stepping into the shower. She washed away yesterday’s misery, scrubbing the decisions out of her hair. There was no changing them, so might as well let them swirl down the drain with the rest of the grime and who she once was.

When Pierce stepped out of the shower, she was relieved to see that the mirror was completely fogged up. She didn’t know if she would be able to bear her new reflection. She wasn’t ready to see the “new her” quite yet.

Dripping wet, she searched for a towel. There was a limited supply. There was a limited supply of everything; Miranda had never prepared for a roommate. Pierce picked up her coffee-stained clothes from the ground, grimacing. She couldn’t these back on without washing them.

She padded into Miranda’s bedroom. What was she even doing? She had no business being here! But she couldn’t spend the rest of the day in a towel.

Determined to limit her time in this place, Pierce opened a drawer and snatched the first thing on top: a black teeshirt. She went back into the bathroom to put it on. It wasn’t until she saw herself in the mirror that she realized it wasn’t just a plain black tee. On it was a skull and the words “Death or Glory.”

It was an Ed Hardy teeshirt. 

Unable to help it, Pierce began laughing. This woman, her captor, business partner, work wife, whatever, who appeared so elegant and put together had a fucking Ed Hardy tee. And it really begged the question: who was Miranda?

Pierce paused a moment in the mirror. Now for pants; her jeans were still soaked through and stained. After rummaging through other drawers, she found a pair of untouched workout shorts. Perfect.

Fully clothed, she wandered into the kitchen, knowing she wouldn’t find much of anything other than coffee. She paused as her eyes landed on the knife block. Surely a missing knife would be noticed. Still, Pierce had nothing to protect herself, and Miranda had made it very clear that she was not to be trifled with.

Pierce grasped a knife by its thick, black handle, and she had ever wondered if the blade knew what it felt like to have human blood dripping from it. 

Too noticeable, Pierce decided. A knife was no match for Miranda. So what was?

Miranda was a mystery, that was for sure. And she was determined to remain that way. There were things she would never share with Guinevere Pierce, such as what she did outside of the apartment. Things were already too complicated for that.

Miranda removed the small, black flash drive from the server in the Lionfish warehouse.

“You ought to be more careful, Miranda,” Victor chastised as he stepped out from the shadows. “Someone might think you’re up to something.”

Miranda’s blue eyes widened briefly in panic, but she managed to force the feeling down and keep her voice steady. “You know this place worries me. No guards; anyone could wander in here.”

“And nothing has happened so far,” Victor pointed out. “Your information is safe. When will you start trusting me on this?”

“When you give me a reason to trust you,” Miranda replied flippantly, brushing past Victor as she left.

Once out in the open air, Miranda allowed herself a deep breath of relief, her heart hammering against her ribcage wildly. She had thought Victor had seen her with the flash drive, but no, she was safe.

She looked down at the small device in the palm of her gloved hand. 

She wasn’t quite ready to go back to her apartment. She had one more stop to make. So Miranda got into her car, her meditation CD automatically playing as soon as the engine grumbled to life. As she drove off, her heart began settling down. 

When she returned to her apartment, she half expected to find Victor or one of his puppy dog assassins standing over Pierce’s corpse; it wouldn’t have surprised her if her boss broke in after their little encounter. But no, Pierce was as alive as ever, laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling, not a knife out of place.

“Are those my clothes?”

Pierce sat up. “You spilled coffee all over mine,” she reminded Miranda. “Bit of shopping?”

Miranda raised the plastic bags she was holding. “Groceries, since you keep complaining. But this is coming out of your paycheck.” She set down the bags, and pulled a box out of one of them. “And this.”

“Presents? And it’s not even our anniversary yet,” Pierce teased, taking the box from Miranda. She opened it and slid out a slim, gleaming laptop. She looked to Miranda, genuinely surprised. 

“For work,” Miranda explained. “Your first assignment, your real assignment, starts now.”

“Harrison Fox?”

From her pocket, Miranda withdrew the black flash drive. “Any information Lionfish has on him is on here.”

“Who is he anyway?” Pierce held out her hand and Miranda placed the flash drive in her palm.

“One of us. Or so Victor thinks.”

“You don’t trust him.” There wasn’t a point in asking further questions. Miranda wanted information on a man she didn’t trust. Fine. Pierce could oblige. It was easy to say yes to Miranda, especially when there was the ever looming threat of being killed. 

Miranda studied Pierce for a moment, seeing the gears turn in her head as she opened the laptop to get it set up. There was satisfaction in this, like seeing a pet execute a trick for the first time. 

Pierce could feel Miranda’s eyes on her. She shifted on the couch, not sure how to react to being scrutinized. 

“Why poisons? Why the hyperfixation on medical murders?” Miranda suddenly asked. Her voice was quiet, gentle. It wasn’t an interrogation; it was genuine curiosity.

There was a pause, the question hanging heavy in the air, trying to settle on Pierce’s shoulders. But Pierce was focused on the laptop as if it was the most important thing in the world. “As soon as I find something noteworthy on Harrison Fox I’ll let you know.”

And that was that.


End file.
